


Chivalrous

by MrsMoosie



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale's True Form (Good Omens), BAMF Aziraphale (Good Omens), Fights, Kidnapping, M/M, Sword Fighting, Swords, The Demon Abbadon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-03
Updated: 2020-12-03
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:21:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27864502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrsMoosie/pseuds/MrsMoosie
Summary: The apocalypse was averted. Aziraphale and Crowley are still wanted for their roles as traitors, and Crowley is the first to be targeted.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 79





	Chivalrous

**Author's Note:**

> My final prompt fill! This was from my awesome friend @nanny_snakeeyes over on IG, asking for a little BAMF Aziraphale. I hope I delivered... also for all you that enjoy sword fighting... and Crowley’s in distress? 👀
> 
> Thank you @gotham_girl_88 for straining your poor eyes for this!

It didn’t feel much like a hot cocoa day for Aziraphale. There were very unusual weather patterns that had begun outside of his window, which in his experience was cause for concern. He liked to rise with the sun, regardless if he had slept the night before. The birth of a new day, the change of lights and sounds brought peace within him, especially since he was half responsible for saving the Earth. The sky today seemed an awful red which, if he understood the old adage correctly, would indicate some sort of terrible day coming. 

“Red sky in the morning… Now was it shepherds warning or the sailors?” His brow furrowed as he watched the sky continue to light up, thinking to himself to check in his bible for the correct verbiage. As he reached for his copy of the New Testament, he noticed the sky swiftly changing from red into a variety of colors, settling in on nearly black as an unpredicted storm rolled in. It really was feeling more like a coffee kind of day. He brought his bible with him back to where the coffee lived, and began to flip through while brewing simultaneously. He’d need to muster all of his energy for whatever evil he sensed was lurking around the corner. 

More accurately, the unknown evils. There was evil in the vicinity. He was truly established in Aziraphale’s life, and was more of a mischief maker than a completely evil being. Said evil was still hiding in his bed across town. He was burrowed underneath his mountain of blankets and duvets, snoring away. Crowley had found himself freezing in the middle of the night, as the temperature dropped and his flat was being disobedient again. He had to relocate into several locations- the floor, the ceiling, the couch… Finally he’d begun construction on his bed. He created a four foot high blanket and pillow masterpiece, contorting himself into the most excellent position beneath it all. He was quite pleased with himself. It was award worthy, and would make the great artists of old cry even. It certainly was not enough to keep him in bed for a century though. He’d slept through the red sky, snored as the storm clouds rolled in. The only important thing he knew is that at the moment his pillow was perfectly comfortable, his comforter was plush, and his alarm clock knew better than to make any sound. He was in a figurative heaven, floating around in the clouds, dreaming of a very specific Angel drinking wine with him and eating cakes, perhaps licking the frosting off his fingers-

There were several loud bangs on the door to his flat, causing both Crowley (and his plants) to stir. Dreams of the soft Angel with rosy cheeks and icing on his face vanished in an instant. Bright yellow eyes opened, the iris shrinking to an average human size for aesthetics. He was slow to crawl out of the mountain and sit up, yawning and wiping a hand down over his face. He smacked his lips sleepily, glancing over at the time. As his eyes focused on the date and time, one decided to twitch- either in exhaustion, but more likely in anger. 

“Yes, yes, coming!” He shouted, grumbling under his breath about how the individual on the other side of the door was in for a world of hurt.

It was nine o’clock in the morning. Whomever was banging on the door was going to have a shock when Crowley appeared before them with the head of a snake. He slipped out of bed and stretched, his pajama bottoms riding low and his shirt flying up. It exposed his stomach, and the strip of hair that disappeared down beneath the waistband of his bottoms. Yawning, Crowley gave a scratch over his stomach and whined. Nine in the morning… Honestly. What monster was looking for him this early. Definitely not Aziraphale, the Angel knew better than to contact him before noon.

His bare feet padded across the cold, dark tile. He paid no mind to the plants as they stood a little taller, trying to look as presentable as possible to their master. They trembled, hoping not to bear the brunt of this unwarranted early start. Crowley didn’t even look at the gloomy sky outside his window with black clouds rolling in. In fact, he didn’t give any consideration to any of his surroundings one bit. He finally made it through the cold grey flat to the door. He reached out to the handle, but paused just in time.

It was glowing red, and scorching hot to boot.

“Who’s there?” Crowley snarled. He really should have installed that peephole like Aziraphale said.

“Housekeeping.” A smooth, deep voice. Crowley couldn’t pin it to a particular demon… If it was even a demon, that is. Humans he could smell. This was… Different. This was a chaotic evil.

“I live in a flat, try again.” Crowley stepped away. He had to reach Aziraphale. He was going to need help. If this was heaven… If this was hell… They were out for blood, and Aziraphale could be in danger just as he was. He backed away. He had to get his phone.

“Exterminator.” The voice repeated, “I’m here to take care of a diseased rat.”

Crowley shouted as the door was easily broken down, metal shattering to the ground like glass in thousands of pieces. He ran before he could see the offending party, getting quickly to his room and grabbing his phone. There was no time, he had to be fast. He had to get to Aziraphale- he had to get a message out. Fingers flew over the glass screen, pressing send as often as he could to make sure at least something made its way to the Angel.

He hit send one last time, the phone lowering as a shadow stepped over him. Golden eyes looked to the side, slowly raising up the body before him. His face paled, eyes wide and yellow. He received a blunt object to the side of his head. He was out cold before he even hit the floor, with no dreams of cake eating angels or soft pillows to greet him.

Aziraphale sipped his coffee and skimmed over the day’s copy of The Celestial Observer. There was a section inside specifically for good deeds that humans had been performing- The Benediction section, listing things humans had gone out of their way to perform for other humans. Giving money to those in need, operating a home based food pantry, giving clothing to a gentleman that was going for a job interview. Aziraphale was particularly proud of this section and found himself opening to it immediately. He liked to see selfless acts being performed. Humans giving, inspiring and enacting positive change to the world warmed him to the core. 

A tone came from his desk and caused him to jump. It was Queen, of course, shouting about a “Bicycle!” at him.

“Oh!” Aziraphale shouted. He looked beside him over his glasses and saw that his cellular phone lit up. Crowley had gotten it for him as a gift. It had never been charged, but that was because a little demonic intervention would never allow the battery to die, and it would always appear at Aziraphale’s side when ringing. Of course, it had never done that before, even five years since receiving it. The phone was brand new, and never been used. Crowley still called his landline for everything- dinner, drinks, general checking in. It was a habit to dial the shop’s phone number. It was the only one that Crowley remembered off the top of his head, so this was a strange occurrence indeed. Aziraphale leaned over the phone and pushed his glasses up his nose curiously, touching the screen where a bubble popped up. There were multiple text messages coming in from Crowley, frantically sent.

_ Crowley: Hes back _

_ Crowley: Need help _

_ Crowley: Come fast _

Aziraphale felt his heart drop into his stomach and churn around in fear.  _ He’s back, _ he had said. Had an Archangel come to collect his head? Or a demon from the depths that he didn’t know about? He didn’t have his sword to protect them any longer, it was locked up in storage somewhere with other ancient relics and artifacts. Aziraphale stood up and threw his glasses beside his coffee, pinching the bridge of his nose. He knew this was going to be a terrible day, he felt it the moment he had seen the red sky. He had to find Crowley quickly. His best friend was in imminent danger.

Aziraphale hurried out the front, snapping to lock the door of the shop. He had no weapons aside from himself. He had no sword. He had no holy water or hell fire. He had himself, and he prayed he was enough. With each step through London, his determination grew and adrenaline surged. Fear and nervousness were gone, and an old, sleeping mentality resurfaced. Aziraphale’s shoulders squared, his hands fisted and his chin lifted confidently. The bookshop owner was gone. The soldier, the Principality had emerged.

He made his way down the streets, looking for Crowley, feeling for his presence. What started as a walk turned into a determined jog as he hustled toward where he could sense Crowley. He could always sense Crowley, at least at the very minimum to know he existed near him. Now he was honing in on him with every fiber of his being. He needed to see him, to know that he was okay.

It was the park… Crowley… Crowley said they were back, said he needed help. He stopped at the entrance to the park and saw the bandstand. It was dark. A thick, evil black cloud surrounding it giving off a feeling of damnation. It was malicious, and felt ready to strike and destroy instantly. It was a demon, it had to be. There was no smell of them, no feeling of an ethereal being there aside from Crowley. It had to be someone that had it out for Crowley for years, some creature that was here to hurt his friend. 

Aziraphale wouldn’t stand for such injustice. There was the understanding of a clean slate when they had parted ways, having fooled them in the switch. They were supposed to be left alone, they were supposed to be free of this. This… This could not be business though. This felt like a personal vendetta against Crowley, and Aziraphale would not stand for it. He felt himself growing angry at the thought and started toward the structure. As he grew closer, he realized it was no cloud at all, but locusts. Hundreds of millions of the creatures were swarming creating a vortex surrounding the bandstand. He would strike them down with every piece of power he could muster. Angelic wings were begging to be released from where they hid, the many eyes of his true being itching to be revealed. Anger was hardly the word to describe his feelings any longer, and he hadn’t felt this way in over six thousand years.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale shouted, standing outside of the locusts surrounding the bandstand. The swarm grew thicker as he approached, but then as if given an order, a small curtain opened and allowed him inside. Aziraphale knew it was most likely a trap, but he walked in, braver than he had ever been. His chin tilted up and he stood, exactly where he had stood five years ago when Crowley had left him. Only this time, there were no conflicting loyalties. There was nothing holding him back from protecting Crowley against Heaven  _ or _ Hell. This was their haven, their home. Aziraphale was damned sure was going to fight for him. 

“Ah. So the husband has arrived.”

Aziraphale turned, the voice coming from the swarm itself. It was cold, and unmistakable.

“Abbadon.” 

Abbadon… This was  _ not _ good. He had been in Eden, a guardian just as Azirahale was. The Angel that had helped to create Adam. Now… Now he was Abbadon, the Destroyer. Abbadon, the Prince of Hell, who stood shoulder to shoulder with Beelzebub.

“You have come to save him.” The cloud laughed, voice harsh. The locusts slowly swirled to allow a physical form to take shape before buzzing away. Aziraphale watched the demon appear before him. Tall. Long, black hair. Bright red eyes. A black robe hid his body, a hand holding a large, serrated sword to the side. It was encrusted with red gems, rubies most likely that would hold the souls of all it destroyed for its master. Abbadon was not an easy foe to face alone on the battlefield. However, as a Principality, Aziraphale was not to be so easily deterred. 

“I have come to stop you.” Aziraphale said, rolling his sleeves up calmly, “If that entitles me ending you, then by my divine power I shall. Though I would  _ prefer _ , and I do emphasise the prefer, to not resort to violence in order to do so. However, if you wish to proceed please note that I  _ will remove you _ from existence. No power, devine or damned, will stop me from doing so.”

“Aziraphale!” Crowley shouted. He was suspended from the ceiling. Hands were tied behind his back, and the same demonic cord kept him elevated. His eye was bruised and from what Aziraphale could tell, his torso kicked and beaten repeatedly. Surely it was from Abbadon’s boredom while he waited. He knew Aziraphale would come. He expected it.

“Crowley.” Aziraphale said without looking up, “I must end this. I won’t allow him to abuse his power like this.”

Aziraphale began to mutter words softly, ancient and powerful beyond sound and sigil. His quiet, yet overpowering voice echoed. His eyes closed, his arms dropping down to his sides as he chanted through all realms and realities. His hands opened wide, and suddenly out from his back came a great burst of light. His wings came into being, bright and bold from the ethereal plane into the human world. His hands continued to rise until they were held out to the side. Eyes opened- each and every one of them, covering every feather and acrossed alabaster skin, glaring with a divine intensity.

“Abbadon, The Destroyer, Lord of the Bottomless Pit.” Aziraphale said. His voice booming dangerously through the bandstand. He reached out a hand, a beam of light manifested into the form of his holiest weapon. Aziraphale’s flaming sword returned to him. If his need was great, and intentions true, Aziraphale, Principality, Angel of the Eastern Gate of Eden could summon this sword at will to defend. For Aziraphale, this was the greatest, and purest intention he’d ever taken up a sword for. To protect Crowley, and to save his life.

Aziraphale held his sword in both hands, falling into a familiar stance. All of his eyes glared angrily at the demon before him. Wings expanded out to the sides, defensively. It was designed to challenge, to invite the battle toward him as the being of power. Abbadon snarled and held his sword out, stepping forward with a grin. Aziraphale knew the first offensive strike would be for the enemy.

“Prepare yourself, Principality.” He growled.

Abbadon raised his sword and swung, clashing full force with Aziraphale. Aziraphale parried the move easily, stepping within Abbadon’s reach. He’d force him to back step, then shift into a different stace completely. There were clashing swords together again, and again. Grunts and shouts of rage sounded as blades met and wings flapped. Abbadon summoned hellfire to his fist, throwing it toward Aziraphale. His wings added momentum to turn away from it, until suddenly he found himself behind Abbadon. He dropped, giving him a strong kick in the lower back causing the demon to stumble forward.

“Give up now, Demon!” Aziraphale shouted, “My patience is wearing thin, and with it my desire to be merciful.”

“Don’t be so sure of yourself, little Angel. This will end with both of your destruction!” 

Abbadon raised his sword and took two steps forward, but Aziraphale easily predicted the movement. He dodged the swing of the blade, and moved in close enough to press the flat of his blade against the exposed flesh of the demon’s neck. The contact of the holy flame drew an agonizing scream as Abbadon fell to his knees and dropped his sword. His hands grabbed into the ground and his body crumbled, immobilised by the divine power pressing beyond his corporation and through his very essence. 

Taking this advantage, Aziraphale kicked the sword away from his reach. Without a second thought, his form expanded beyond his corporation, surrounding the demon before him. Abbadon dared to look up and found himself surrounded, pinned in place by the deadly glare of thousands of eyes. A voice came from somewhere, but also from everywhere as Aziraphale’s voice spoke once more.

“This is your last chance to surrender. Return to Hell where you belong, and never return.” Aziraphale demanded angrily, “You have trespassed upon what is mine, and it cannot be tolerated again. You are  _ not welcome _ .”

“I concede… I will return to hell, Principality.” Abbadon growled through clenched teeth. He dared to look up with an ugly grin, “But do not be foolish enough to think this is the end. We will return. There is a debt to be settled. You will suffer for what you have done.” 

Aziraphale’s gaze hardened, his corporation dialing back as his rage consumed him. He lifted his sword angrily, his eyes wide and full of hatred. How many chances must he give… How many demons hunting them would go free. Crowley, suffering because of this!? Aziraphale’s pupils were paper thin as the sword swung down.

“ _ Aziraphale!! _ ”

Crowley was shouting at him, and it brought Aziraphale back down. He looked to where the sword had stopped and gasped. He remembered what was happening. This was not him- Aziraphale didn’t kill demons, The soldier had vowed to never take a life, to intentionally spill blood- No. Crowley… He was here for Crowley. He looked back down to Abbadon who had the sense to cut his losses and merge back into the lotus swarm. It rapidly dispersed, leaving Aziraphale standing alone in the bandstand, watching as clouds disappeared and the sun emerged from its prison. 

His captor gone, Crowley fell from the ceiling. Aziraphale dropped his sword and caught him bridal style by instinct, swiftly dropping him to the ground gently. He was still feeling the adrenaline, so his reflexes appeared to be much faster still.. Crowley was hurt and bruised, cuts open and bleeding. He needed attention and tending to. Aziraphale’s two eyes closed, concentrating on retracting his wings and multiple eyes back into the ethereal plane from whence they came. There was a small extra moment, savoring the feeling of ethereal adrenaline wearing down and away.

“Crowley… Crowley are you alright?” He asked. He sat the demon beside him and tried to keep his tone as steady and reassuring as he could. Hands began tracing over limbs and body parts, taking their time over Crowley. He used as much energy as he could muster, healing and mending, easing sore muscles and bruises. Azirpahale found his breath had picked up, his eyes were wide and full of remorse for his dearest friend. Crowley smiled and looked up to him after he’d been mostly healed.

“Fine… Should have seen that coming. Ligur had some favors with Beelzs that were never called in… I’m assuming they took it into their own hands to call in some requests.” Crowley groaned, holding his side. Aziraphale batted his hand away and with a gesture, vanished the bruises and various internal injuries sustained from a rather brutal beating. Crowley was still in his pajamas, no shoes, and was certainly dragged here against his own will. 

“Abbadon is not some petty demon with a grudge to be trifled with, Crowley. Whatever Ligur did before you destroyed him, you’re in his war path now. One little scuffle isn’t going to end this. I can imagine he’ll be back with others. No, I’m certain of it.”

“Aziraphale… We’re fine. Really.” Crowley insisted, leaning into his strong chest and sighing, “That moron just had his ass handed to him on a silver platter by a Principality. Besides, it was very chivalrous of you coming to my rescue.”

Aziraphale chuckled, “Well, it has been a while, but I  _ was  _ a knight of the round table, after all. Practically invented chivalry.” 

“Mm… That you were. Can you bring me home? I think we ought to sleep, my knight in shining armor.” Crowley winked, and immediately lost the high ground of the conversation as Aziraphale effortlessly pulled him to stand. It may have been too hard of a pull- perhaps there was still some ethereal adrenaline left in his body, because Crowley’s arms wrapped around Aziraphale's neck tightly to stop him from falling over. Crowley swore it had happened in slow motion. Their hands touching, his arms around Aziraphale, but more. Their bodies connected together, and their faces were just  _ so close _ . Crowley didn’t even recall the gasp that left his lips, nervous but delighted by this new position they found themselves in.

“Crowley...” Aziraphale blushed and realized just how close they were now. “Don’t… Don’t tease.” They were standing so close, so unnecessarily close, even if they didn’t need to. Neither moved, because neither wanted to. Crowley was warm, his body pressed up against Aziraphale’s broad, warm chest. He could feel Aziraphale’s heart beating just as quickly as his own. Thin arm strung over his shoulders, fingertips brushing against the hair on the nape of Aziraphale’s neck experimentally. Aziraphale’s heart was racing. Friends didn’t let their hearts beat so fast when they were touching. Friends didn’t glance down at pink lips, wondering what they’d taste like.

“Aziraphale?” Crowley felt his cheeks pink as well and suddenly it dawned on him.

It wasn’t friendship that had motivated Aziraphale to draw his sword for the first time in 1500 years. ‘Just friends’ didn’t drop everything they were doing to save your life like  _ that _ . They didn’t get repeatedly drawn together for lunch and dinner as often as they did, sharing meals and laughter. Friends didn’t… They didn’t look at you like Aziraphale was at this moment, He had been so sure and forceful just minutes before and fell back into his old self easily. He was gentle, his eyes darting down to his lips in uncertainty. Crowley reached up and touched Aziraphale’s cheek, soft and warm from fighting so hard, “Can I...”

Aziraphale’s eyes darted over Crowley’s face, looking for the answer. He swallowed hard, giving a nod and taking in a deep breath. They leaned in hesitantly, eyes locking together. Nerves gave them each away, and then eyes closed. Their lips met in a tender touch, followed by several other gentle kisses between them. Crowley’s hand held Aziraphale’s cheek, his other slipping away from Aziraphale’s hand and burying into golden curls. It was perfectly chaste, and yet how calming the gesture was spoke such volumes between the two. 

Their lips separated, peeling apart and a silence grew between them. Aziraphale’s eyes darted between Crowley’s, and he decided to be brave and break the silence.

“Crowley did… Why?”

“You’ve always been my knight, Aziraphale.” Crowley said, leaning their foreheads together and smiling like a fool in love, “I was watching you fighting and… You’ve always been so strong and protective of me. I’ve never realized… All these years your words your… actions. You’ve been protecting me from everything. Angel, you’ve been saving me from myself. Every step... I’ve been right there with you and-”

“Crowley…” Aziraphale’s hands found the demon’s and squeezed, “Just stop.”

Their lips met again and Crowley hummed, his eyes closing happily. In the very same spot where they had nearly destroyed their friendship years ago, they found a new relationship, finally ready to bloom. It was built on trust and confidence, on love and protection.

And just a bit of chivalry.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me!  
> IG: @mrsmoosie35  
> Tumblr: @mrsmoosie


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